The Ultimate Weapon
by Tarien
Summary: Volermort, desperate to take over the world, decides that he must create the Ultimate Weapon. But what is the Ultimate Weaspon, and will it be too much for him to handle?
1. An idea to cause Soroe and Pane

Disclaimer: JKR created the Harry. JKR created the Ron. JKR made up Hermione. And this is just titchy fandom. Rowling, oh Rowling, thanks for creating Harry Potter! Rowling, oh Rowling, thank you for all you have done!  
  
[/'My Bonny Lies Over The Ocean' Tune]  
  
As of yet, I'm not quite sure where the story is going. I'm only sure that I'm going to finish it. Some day. You are warned that this is contains too much OOC to be serious!fic but plenty of allegory for the bored MSTer. Interpretive Sparkles are sho fun.  
  
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Voldermort lounged casually upon his throne, picking his teeth with the bone of what had been a particularly tasty Hippogriff. It was not the right Hippogriff, the one that Wormtail told him had ferried that confounded Sirius Black to safety and supposed freedom, but it had been a tasty Hippogriff all the same. He burped unceremoniously, but it was an evil burp, and therefore it was good.  
  
The world was a good place.  
  
Now that pissed Voldermort off. As far as he was concerned, the world was not supposed to be a good place. It was supposed to be bad. Badder than bad. It was supposed to be one whole heap of bad with him on top of it as the Lord of Bad. Voldermort picked feverishly at his teeth. His thoughts were always incoherent after a particularly good meal.  
  
It was because good did not go with bad, Voldermort decided. To be perfectly bad, one had to completely cut oneself off from anything good. If that meant ingesting large quantities of flobberworms, then, by God, he would do so.  
  
Hang on, Voldermort didn't believe in God.  
  
But that wasn't the point. Voldermort reached out and picked up the bell that stood upon his side table, giving it a little tinkle. Immediately, Wormtail appeared.  
  
"What can this humble servant do for you, my master, my lord, my all powerful top dog?"  
  
"Round up the Death Eaters. I've got a plan."  
  
"My lord, wouldn't it be faster if you just pointed your wand at my Dark Mark and caused me and my fellow minions searing, unbearable pain?" Wormtail asked, crawling forward (for he was at present on his knees) and offering his left arm for Voldermort's inspection. Voldermort curled his lip in revulsion. Clearly, Nott's spell to make Wormtail more useful had also succeeded in making him more revolting than ever. But Wormtail was right. The Dark Mark worked better than any other form of communication.  
  
"BZZZT."  
  
As Wormtail rolled about the floor in an ecstasy induced by pain and the pleasure of doing something to help his master, Voldermort inspected the tip of his wand with mild curiousity. That muggle he'd gotten Malfoy to kidnap really had known what he was doing. His wand now made all sorts of funky sounds when he used it. His favourite sound effect was the one that happened when he used the Cruciatus curse.  
  
"Crucio!" He shouted just as someone apparated into his throne room. The girly shrieks of pain told him it was Avery. "Silencio!" As Avery's howling cut itself off abruptly, Voldermort sighed in satisfaction as Saruman's voice filled the room.  
  
"TO WAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!!"  
  
Now that was a wizard. Pity about the Ents and the upstart race of Men. Muggles. One and the same through every dimension and time zone.  
  
As his other Death Eaters began trickling in, Voldermort smirked at Avery's attempts to stop looking reproachful. It was really no use. Voldermort loved his special wand. It was a pity Wormtail had taken his orders so seriously. 'You're so brilliant you shouldn't be allowed to live.' was not supposed to be taken in that context. He waved his wand around again and watched as the men flinched, ducked and generally rolled around in an effort to stay out of range. He patted his wand fondly and settled back onto his throne, waiting for his men to finish hiding behind each other while looking at him warily.  
  
"Two weeks. Two weeks I have been idle, and none of you has succeeded in bringing me Potter's head. In fact, none of you has actually succeeded in anything at all." Voldermort allowed his voice to become chilly.  
  
"My lord, I caught you that Hippogriff..." MacNair murmured, nursing his hand. The Hippogriff had cost him two fingers.  
  
"And it was good." Voldermort replied in a voice that implied that it was not. In fact, his voice did mean exactly that it was not. "Which is what I need to talk to you about."  
  
"A good Hippogriff, master?" Crabbe asked, scratching his head. "What about a good Hippogriff?"  
  
"Nothing, Crabbe, you infinitely backward creature." Voldermort contemplated performing the Cruciatus curse on Crabbe, just to hear Saruman's immensely fulfilling voice, but decided that it went against what he was trying to get at. "I want to talk to you about things which are good."  
  
He swept off the throne, his long cloak billowing out behind him as he did so. His followers made a ring around him as he paced back and forth in their midst. A nervous, flinching ring.  
  
"As you all know, we are committed to the cause of evil. We are on a crusade to demolish all that is good in this world. Are we not, Malfoy?" Voldermort paused and gave Malfoy his most slitty-eyed stare.  
  
"We are, my lord." Malfoy replied steadily.  
  
Voldermort grumbled inwardly. Malfoy was much too cool and collected. Weaker men would have quaked and required intensive treatment under that stare. "Then why, might I ask, are you living the good life?"  
  
"I don't understand, my lord." Ah, a quiver. Excellent. Voldermort was pleased.  
  
"Why, when we are committed to demolishing all that is good, do you live in a house that has good quality furniture, good quality food, and dress in clothes that make you look good?" Voldermort thought the last part of the question was really a no-brainer, but he did not care, as the question was rhetorical anyway. "My Death Eaters! Here, the root of our problem is revealed! We cannot truly be evil, we cannot succeed in being evil, for we still cling on to that which is good!"  
  
While a ripple of confusion surged through the ring, Avery had the lack of sense to mutter, "That didn't make any sense."  
  
"TO WAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!!"  
  
After the howling had died down, Voldermort resumed his seat upon his throne and sat surveying his Death Eaters. "Bad and good are two complete oppositions, as are black and white, yin and yang, free time and inspiration from muses. You cannot have one and the other together. Do you understand this?"  
  
"Yes, yes my lord." Came the general reply.  
  
"Therefore we must cut away every facet of our life which is good and subject ourselves to all that is bad, filthy, horrible, disgusting and vile."  
  
"My lord, not filthy!" Malfoy ejaculated in horror.  
  
"Yes, Malfoy, filthy." Voldermort thought he heard Malfoy's heart smashing into smithereens. "And don't forget bad dress sense."  
  
Malfoy fainted at this point. Voldermort smirked. Even Archilles had his heel.  
  
"Master, I will do whatever you wish. I will roll around in the sties of pigs. I will eat the uncooked larvae of Blast-ended Skrewts. I will wear nothing but a potato sack that is scratchy and unmerciful on skin such as mine. I will..."  
  
The force of the Silencing Charm that Voldermort promptly cast on the groveling Wormtail was nothing compared to the unearthly wail of anguish that was the sound effect of his wand.  
  
"Now, I want you all to return to your homes and purge yourselves of all that can be construed as good. Then I want you to think about an ultimate weapon. An ultimate weapon that can cause its victims pain upon pain, horror upon horror, anguish upon anguish, despair upon despair and so on and so forth. In a week, you will bring this to me." Voldermort looked intently at Crabbe and Goyle. "One week." He repeated. "Seven days."  
  
"Yes, master." The Death Eaters murmured. Voldermort dismissed them with a flick of his wand, and one by one they began to disperse.  
  
An ultimate weapon. Voldermort ran his fingers along his wand and smiled. Soon, he would take over the world. 


	2. Ai for the creators of Mattel

For disclaimer, see chapter one. For fiction of great literary worth, look elsewhere.  
  
Oh yes, and while I'm writing this, I realize that I have no idea what time frame I'm working with. Voldermort has been restored to his body, so that would put it at book four, and Harry and Co. are in Grimmauld Place, which might put it at the beginning of book five. Any other attempts to define its boundaries are then left floundering at the deep end of unnamed cess pools.  
  
It's not worrying me too much though. If it worries you, please, take some Happy Pills and chant a mantra or two.  
  
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Harry climbed down the stairs, rubbing the scar on his forehead and frowning. He'd had an odd nightmare, and the sound of ten thousand feet pounding against the earth kept ringing in his ears. He wondered if Fred or George had managed to slip anything into his pumpkin juice the night before, while everyone was feeling particularly exuberant about the fact that Voldermort had been keeping a low profile for two whole weeks. Now, as his scar continued smarting, he couldn't help but wonder despondently if that had been the calm before the storm.  
  
Hearing Snape's voice in the kitchen seemed to confirm his worst fears. Taking a deep breath, he entered the kitchen and waited for the hushed silence to fall.  
  
"Morning." He mumbled, flopping into a chair next to Sirius and reaching for a piece of toast.  
  
"Morning, Harry dear, how are you?" Mrs. Weasley bustled over and poured Harry some piping hot tea.  
  
"Why is he here?" Harry asked, looking at Snape, who bristled.  
  
"I do not have to account my business to you, Potter." He spat.  
  
"So there's no particular reason why my scar hurts this morning then?"  
  
A second hushed silence fell over the kitchen. Tonks stopped trying out different hair colours. Lupin stopped stirring his tea. Sirius stopped rustling his newspaper in irritation at Snape's presence. Mrs. Weasley stopped bustling around. Mr. Weasley stopped whistling. Snape stopped scowling.  
  
"Your scar what?" Lupin asked.  
  
"Hurts." Harry replied, digging into his toast. He was feigning nonchalance, because nonchalance seemed to be the only way to get anyone to tell him anything. Sure enough, Lupin exchanged a meaningful look with Sirius, who then cleared his throat and turned to Harry.  
  
"Sometime last night, Snape's scar turned jet black." Sirius began.  
  
"Snape has a scar?" Harry wondered, raking Snape's forehead with his eyes. There was nothing there but beads of sweat and wrinkles of anger. Then comprehension dawned on Harry. "Oh. It's not really a scar, is it?"  
  
"It is a scar!" Snape burst. "It was burnt into us! Burnt!"  
  
"Clearly, you have issues." Sirius said flippantly. He turned back to Harry. "We think Voldermort may be stirring again. We'll have to step up the watch. We don't know where he'll come from, or what he'll do."  
  
Mrs. Weasley hustled past with a tea cloth, making clicking noises that sounded highly disapproving.  
  
"What are we going to do?" Harry asked.  
  
"Nothing." Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "Nothing. Nothing at all. You will go back to Hogwarts in two weeks, and you will study hard, and you will get excellent grades, and you will not get yourself and your friends into trouble or any sort of mortal danger." She paused to take a breath and glower a little. "Do we understand each other?"  
  
Harry nodded quickly as everyone went back to doing their own things. Snape got up and swept off with much billowing of the cloak before the other children of Grimmauld Place began to descend into the kitchen with muffled yawns and subdued 'good morning's.  
  
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Voldermort drummed his fingernails against the arm of his throne, humming in the manner that makes pretty spring birds want to migrate to some place very far away. It was a new throne, and an entirely uncomfortable one. He'd only been sitting in it for two days and already his lower back was trying to mutiny.  
  
Voldermort wasn't worried though. Even his body parts didn't have the guts to question his authority, no pun intended.  
  
He drummed his fingernails some more. This had a strangely soothing effect on his soul. Or lack thereof. Therefore, he immediately stopped drumming his nails and contemplated actually chopping the tips of his fingers off, but common sense and the dislike of any pain caused to himself prevented him from following through with that train of thought. He did, however, have to set a good example for his Death Eaters to follow.  
  
Speaking of Death Eaters, here came one now.  
  
Followed by another.  
  
Followed by a third.  
  
As the rest of his Death Eaters apparated into place, Voldermort smiled. They were all very late, but this was a bad thing, and was therefore excusable. Wormtail came into the throne room, dragging with him something that squeaked under a cloth cover.  
  
"Where is Malfoy?" Voldermort asked after it because apparent that Malfoy was not among the very-late crowd.  
  
"Here, master." Malfoy zipped in upon a broomstick, followed closely by his son. As it happened to be pouring outside, they were both drenched and considerably disheveled. "My apologies. My son is not yet capable of Apparation, and besides, we might catch pneumonia, which is bad, and therefore I trust it will be pleasing to you, my lord."  
  
Voldermort settled back into his throne (his lower back cricked unhappily) and waited for his other Death Eaters to stop giving Malfoy death glares. Malfoy ignored them pointedly as he started to steam dry his son with his wand.  
  
"Now that we are all gathered here, you know our purpose. What have you brought for me? Avery?"  
  
"A computer virus, my lord!" Avery lay a diskette at Voldermort's feet. "This virus is particularly vile. Not only does it cause your computer to crash, but it also seeks out all your beloved files and folders (for example, movie screen caps, thirty chapter fics, cherished IM conversations) and turns them into gibberish before replicating itself and sending itself to all the friends in your address book! There is no cure!"  
  
"Except, wizards and witches don't actually use computers, do they?"  
  
Avery glared around the room, challenging the owner of the question to own up. But it was too late.  
  
"TO WAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!"  
  
"MacNair?"  
  
"Master, I bring you a Stalker!Bug." MacNair said. He produced a tiny glass cylinder from his pocket and laid it down next to the virus. "It is truly a demonstration of how evil Mother Nature can get. This Stalker!Bug is no ordinary insect. It may be smaller than the eye of a needle, but it is cunning, swift and stealthy. It stalks its prey with undiminished determination, weaving its way about a person's hair but always staying just out of the range of the person's view. That is, until it zooms in for the kill and proceeds to suck the life blood out of its prey, rendering the prey as dead and a doornail. The Stalker!Bug multiplies at a rate of twenty thousand offspring per month!"  
  
Voldermort summoned the glass cylinder to himself and inspected the bug. It certainly looked harmless, but Voldermort could see, and at this a delicious thrill of horror crept down his spine, that its mouth was nothing but a continuously moving circle of razor sharp teeth.  
  
He was impressed, but chose not to say so. "Nott?"  
  
"My lord, I. I." Nott wrung his hands nervously, eyes darting back and forth. "I tried a great many things! Poisons, swords, the occasional nuclear weapon. But none of them. ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!"  
  
Voldermort waited for someone to finish rolling the mutilated and charred carcass of Nott into another room. He had no patience with those who could not follow orders.  
  
"Wormtail?"  
  
With a flourish, Wormtail uncovered a cage of squeaking mice. An unpleasant odour pervaded the room. No, that was an understatement. Someone leaned bent over and retched.  
  
"Rats, my lord! Thousands and thousands, millions and millions of rats, all under my command and therefore under yours! With these rats, we can infect the entire globe! Disease! Plague! None will be spared!"  
  
"You're salivating, Wormtail. Do get a grip."  
  
"Pardon, master. I just get so excited sometimes." The little man wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "What do you think, master?"  
  
"It will not do." Voldermort sighed. "But at least you have tried your best. However, lest Avery accuse me of favouritism."  
  
"TO WAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!"  
  
"And you, Rookwood?"  
  
Rookwood came forward with a small black jewelry box. He laid it next to the glass cylinder containing the Stalker!Bug and opened it. There was a murmur of approval when it became known that the box contained one very beautiful amethyst necklace.  
  
"Master, I bring this to you from the Department of Mysteries. Whoever wears this necklace may bend others to his will."  
  
"How is this different from the Imperius Curse, Rookwood?"  
  
"Ah, master, the ingenuity of it is that it bends the will subtly. The victim does not even realise that his opinions are not his own. Also, as no spell is used, no spell can be broken, and the victim will continue in his mistaken plight unless some great shock wakes him up."  
  
"And now we come to you, Malfoy."  
  
Malfoy made a great show of straightening up and flicking his hair back over his shoulder. "I present to you my son."  
  
"Your son?" His fellow Death Eaters chorused.  
  
"Yes, my son." He nudged Draco Malfoy forward with his cane. Draco stood in the center of the room trying furiously to avoid eye contact with Voldermort. "I believe that with the right kind of training, Draco will become charming, sophisticated, eloquent, well-groomed and an all round Adonis. He will attract the entire female population of the world, and admittedly, a fair portion of the male population too. Then these unfortunate souls will battle each other to win his heart, or what they think is his heart but is in actual fact a rather embarrassing birth defect, and will kill each other in the process. The remainder of the world will then be left without any females to assist in reproduction and will slowly die out. The world will be a void of destruction and desolation. There will be pain, despair, horror, and everything else you asked for, my lord."  
  
"How will this help me to cause immediate torture upon Harry Potter?" Voldermort asked. "Does the boy sit on that side of the fence?"  
  
Draco Malfoy made a distinct squeaking sound that could have been disgust or hope. Voldermort could not tell.  
  
"Finally, I come to the two of you, Crabbe and Goyle. As the two of you seem to share the same clothes, breathing space and grey matter, I suppose you've shared the same idea as well?"  
  
"We have, master." They answered together.  
  
"And what is it?"  
  
The two wizards exchanged looks. Voldermort fingered his wand in anticipation. He had not performed the dreaded Body Splicing curse in a while, and it would amuse him to see Goyle coping with Crabbe's legs while Crabbe coped with Goyle's head. To his surprise, Crabbe wheeled out a trolley. Perched on it was a young girl who looked about eighteen.  
  
"I present to you the Mary Sue." Goyle said, dragging forth a chart diagram.  
  
The room squinted at him. Then they squinted at Crabbe. Finally, they squinted at the young girl who was apparently asleep on her feet.  
  
"What does she do?" MacNair asked.  
  
"Uhhh." Crabbe scratched his head. Voldermort thought this put him on more familiar ground. His eyes kept straying back to the young girl, though. Was it just him, or did her skin have the texture of ivory and glow with the light of undiminished stars? Voldermort blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was definitely just him.  
  
Goyle finished scanning over the first few pages of what seemed to be his user manual and looked up. "Lucius?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"May we borrow your son?"  
  
The son was duly procured and placed in front of the Mary Sue. Draco stared at her nervously for a few minutes, cringing, quite sure he was about to be pounced on and ripped into shreds. When, after three minutes, this clearly wasn't about the happen, he grew cocky and sauntered over to peer closer at the girl. When something again failed to happen, he poked her.  
  
This was when she stirred.  
  
This was also when her eyelashes fluttered open and her eyes fell upon Draco.  
  
"Do mine eyes deceive me? What prince doth stand before me, clad in such array of. cloth-type armour? Am I in heaven or some foolish dream? Take my hand, mine prince, I beseech thee. Tell me thou art real, not imagined, nor some trickery of th' light." She stretched her hand out to Draco and looked pleadingly at him.  
  
Draco turned to look at his father for instructions. The elder Malfoy nodded curtly, and Draco leant forward and gingerly took the tiny little paw in his. Suddenly, there was a great explosion of lights and something began to whirr threateningly. Smoke enveloped the Mary Sue, hiding her from view. Draco shrieked at the top of his lungs, attempting to wrench his arm out of its socket. Anything to get away.  
  
Eventually, the smoke cleared. Draco stopped shrieking. Everyone leaned forward (except Draco, who leaned backward, as far as he could go).  
  
The Mary Sue stepped off the trolley, a long black cloak swishing behind her. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in thick black tresses, and her eyes flashed an intelligent green behind thick black rimmed spectacles. There was a scar on her forehead in the shape of a daisy.  
  
Draco flung himself backwards with such force that he broke his elbow, but didn't care. He skittered behind Voldermort's throne, wailing that it was Judgement Day, and surely it was the devil himself come disguised in Draco's worst nightmare. It was awful, it was horrendous, blah blah blah.  
  
Voldermort shifted his attention from Draco Malfoy to Crabbe and Goyle, who were looking quite pleased with themselves.  
  
"Where did you obtain this devilry?" He asked.  
  
"Mattel, Creators of Barbie."  
  
"Ah."  
  
He beckoned for the Mary Sue to come to him, but changed his mind when she started gliding and bade her to halt.  
  
"Why are you the ultimate weapon?" He asked.  
  
"Ultimate weapon, sir? I don't understand. All I know is that I can change my appearance to suit my audience, win the heart of any man I desire, speak three hundred and fifty two languages, and much more, all of which is detailed in the manual that kind gentleman holds over there." The Mary Sue said, all in a voice that tinkled like a bell and resonated like a gong. "Oh yes, I'm also perfect."  
  
"Can you win his heart?" Voldermort asked, gesturing towards MacNair. The Mary Sue flipped her hair over her shoulder in excruciating slow-mo and gave MacNair a cursory glance. Then she began to stride towards him in a purposeful gait. It was hard to believe, and if one blinked, one missed it, but slowly, she was morphing.  
  
What finally paused in front of MacNair was a full grown woman with her electric blue hair pulled firmly into a bun above her head. Her eyes were narrow slits, like a cat's and she was dressed in a tight lycra cat suit which, amazingly, did not bother to crumple and squeak. She flicked a whip lazily about her ankles.  
  
"MacNair, what have I told you about standing before me?" She asked, her voice deep and powerful. MacNair quivered and fell to his knees before her. "Good boy. Now, how much do you love me?"  
  
"Very much, so much, my mistress. I love you. I love you." MacNair crawled forward and began to kiss the toes of the Mary Sue's booted feet.  
  
Voldermort shut his eyes, repulsed. "Enough." The Mary Sue stepped away from MacNair and became the soft, glowing girl she first arrived as. "What else can she do?"  
  
"Uh." Goyle held up the manual. Voldermort took it and flipped through a couple of pages, his smile growing wider and wider. Then he stopped.  
  
"What's 'canon'?" Voldermort asked.  
  
"What, like I'm supposed to know?" The Mary Sue crossed her arms and frowned. "I don't care what it is. I just destroy it."  
  
"Hmm." Voldermort mused. "You destroy even what you have no comprehension of. If I asked you to destroy, say, truth, beauty and love, would you?"  
  
"Only if I don't have to get dirty doing it."  
  
The Stalker!Bug, the necklace, or the Mary Sue? Voldermort heard sniffing from behind his throne and looked around for its source. Oh yes, the son of Malfoy too.  
  
A movement caught his attention. The Mary Sue was glowing yet again. She watched him with a careless nonchalance and thinly veiled curiousity. Then their eyes met.  
  
"The Mary Sue," Voldermort croaked. He frowned in puzzlement, then cleared his throat. "The Mary Sue it shall be. Our champion and weapon." His voice dripped with evil. Much better.  
  
"Um, just a question?" Everyone turned to the newly appointed Ultimate Weapon. "Could you all hail me now?" 


	3. And so Harry met Sally Or whatever her n...

Disclaimer: All hail J. K. Rowling. All hail. Hail. Hail.  
  
The uncanonity of this fic is beginning to scare me.  
  
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"This is just plain foolishness now!" Avery hissed at McNair as they swept palms up and down, wafting a gentle breeze in the Mary Sue's general direction.  
  
"SHHH!" McNair hissed back then smiled as innocently as an executioner could when the Mary Sue turned to give them a cursory glance.  
  
Within an hour, the Mary Sue, or Harryanna, as she now insisted on being called, had turned the Death Eater's lives upside down and violated every single one of Voldermort's orders. Where Voldermort had declared that life must be bad, Harryanna had waved her hands and turned good. Lucius Malfoy was once again dressed immaculately on the condition that he subject his son to her rule.  
  
"Draco, tell me again that you love me." Harryanna cooed, sipping from a champagne glass, which contained butterbeer.  
  
"I love you." Draco said, eyes glazed.  
  
"No, no, darling. In poetry."  
  
"I..."  
  
"I'm sorry Miss Harryanna. Stomachache." McNair grunted, dropping his palm and tearing off.  
  
"Toothache." Avery echoed, clapping his hands over his ears and fleeing.  
  
Harryanna shrugged and turned back to Draco. "You were saying, my sweet?"  
  
"Your eyes are as blue as a summer sky."  
  
"My eyes are violet today, darling."  
  
"Your skin is as smooth as the velvet which is the silk of your hair."  
  
"Oh, Draco!"  
  
Voldermort chose this moment to make his entrance. Harryanna sighed and dismissed Draco with a wave of her hand. Draco bowed and slunk out, still looking dazed. Voldermort watched him go, then turned back with a frown.  
  
"It is now only two days before you meet your adversary, Mary Sue." He said.  
  
"Harryanna, please, Lord Voldermort." She interrupted.  
  
He seethed, but caught her eyes and chose not to follow up. "Harryanna. Have you any plan at all? Any idea of what to do? Potter may be young, but he is not a fool. Well, he is, but not that big a fool. You must not fail!"  
  
"Come, come, my dear dark lord. I am the Mary Sue, that which was created to be Perfect and Awed. I will not fail you. Much."  
  
"What do you mean much?"  
  
"Well, I might fall in love with Harry Potter, mightn't I? After all, from what Draco tells me..."  
  
"YOU WILL NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH MY ARCH NEMISIS!" The smoke was definitely billowing from his ears now.  
  
"All right, all right, I won't. But what if he falls in love with me?" Harryanna experimented with red hair and green eyes before shimmering softly. Voldermort clenched his fist and counted to ten. He hated it when she shimmered softly at him. And when she glowed at him. He wished she would just remain a normal, illuminous object.  
  
"Then you crush his heart before ripping it out and severely mutilating it. And you bring me his head." Clenched teeth were sometimes difficult to speak through, but Voldermort had had plenty of practice.  
  
Harryanna watched his retreating back. "Must I really get my hands dirty?" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------  
  
"Take care of yourself, Harry. And don't go looking for trouble! Heaven knows it finds you often enough." Harry felt himself go pink as Mrs. Weasley gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He squirmed out of his hands and began to drag his trunk onto the train.  
  
"Harry, she's right." Lupin said, coming to help him. "Just study hard and enjoy your school year. I know they told you not to write to us in case the owls are intercepted, but," Lupin lowered his voice. "Write to him."  
  
Harry nodded, knowing exactly who Lupin meant, then went back to help Ron with his trunk as well, seeing as how Ron was Mrs. Weasley's current victim. He was about to heave the trunk onto the train when he was aware of a sudden silence clouding over the station.  
  
Draco Malfoy had just walked in through the barrier of platform nine and three quarters. Behind him stood his father, the usual sneer stuck on his face. Then Crabbe and Goyle marched in. The four of them parted in the middle to reveal...  
  
Someone gasped - it may have been Pansy Parkinson. A girl walked in, and the world seemed to revolve in slow motion. Her air was a deep, rich shade of copper red, and her eyes were bright emerald green though at times it softened into the barest hint of grey. She laid a dainty hand upon Draco's shoulder and leaned over to whisper in his ear, and in doing so caused her beautiful hair to cascade over her shoulders, drawing an appreciative moan from the rest of the station. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, as if looking for the source of the moan, and caught Harry's eyes. She smiled.  
  
The crash of Ron's trunk against the floor brought everyone back to their senses.  
  
"I had fragile things in there!" Ron yelled and darted over, threatening to strangle Harry with all his might. Harry blinked and some part of him registered the fact that his foot had borne a large part of the trunk's impact. None of this mattered. The feeling of disappointment overwhelmed him as he watched the girl glide into the train holding Draco's arm.  
  
"EARTH TO POTTER!" Someone smacked him so hard on the back of the head he saw stars.  
  
"OW, Hermione, what on earth was that for?"  
  
"For acting like Ron in a roomful of Veelas. On the train! Now! It's leaving!"  
  
Harry took a step towards the train, then cried out in anguish. "My toes! I think they're broken!" 


End file.
